Change of Scenery
by junkhead30
Summary: A group of Greenshirt recruits are going through training.  One of them catches the eye of an instructor, and the feeling is mutual.  Chapter 9 rated M for sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1_

It was just after three o'clock when the bus pulled into the makeshift camp located in the mountains of southern West Virginia. It drove down a long dirt road and came to a stop in front of a man wearing a green baklava, who stood with a rigid air of authority. The driver opened the doors and the man stepped aboard the bus. "All right, quiet down," he yelled. It seemed unnecessary since none of the fifteen greenshirts on the bus were talking, but one could guess that it was a habit learned after years of being an Army instructor. "I am your head instructor. My name is Beach Head, but you will call me Sergeant. If any of you snot rags address me as anything but Sergeant, you will wish you were born without vocal chords!" He still seemed to be speaking louder than necessary, but again, this was expected. "We will begin by assigning roommates. When I call your name, you and your roommate will exit the bus, proceed to your lot and set up your tent. If you are not finished, and gathered by the flagpole in fifteen minutes you fail. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sergeant," the passengers all responded in unison. As the Sergeant started to call out names, one of the greenshirts turned his attention to the layout of the camp. A moderate sized, two storied farm house stood by the road. The back of the house had a large, screened in porch which connected with an open deck that extended past the corner of the house. He assumed this was where the Sergeant and his staff were housed. A few outbuildings were scattered over the property, serving as the mess hall, supply shed, latrine, and classroom. There was a wide expanse of field surrounding the house extending in all directions to the horizon, except on the south side of the house. Roughly a half mile from the back of the farm house was the tree line of a dense forest. The forest sloped upwards to the peak of a mountain.

"Brown, Mitchell…lot five!" Hearing the Sergeant yell his name brought him back from his observation, and as he stood, he looked around the bus to see who this Mitchell character would be. A 6'4" pile of blubber rose from the back row of seats and made his way toward him. The man looked like he was as dumb as a shovel, and immediately Brown felt bad about insulting the countless shovels that make a real difference in the world. Still, the men and women on this bus were supposed to be the absolute best, so the timeless 'book by its cover' cliché echoed in his mind. After the two greenshirts exited the bus, Brown began to double time it to their lot. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mitchell roll his eyes and reluctantly break into a slight jog.

Brown was no physical specimen himself: 5'11", 185 pounds, lean but muscular, certainly not ripped, but defined. He was fast, quick, and strong, but not so much that he would be competing in the Olympic Decathlon by year's end. He always said that everything about him was average. Average height, average build, average looks; nothing about him really stood out. Mentally he was gifted, but rarely used it to make himself smart. He grasped new concepts well, and mastered new technology and maneuvers easily, but only when he was forced to. He still wakes up every morning and wonders why he's in the Army. He never really enjoyed it, and he especially disliked taking orders, although, the thought of giving orders didn't appeal to him either. Still, he managed to finish at or near the top of his class in all of his training assignments. He didn't volunteer for anything, didn't care about competing or winning, and wasn't gung ho about advancing in rank, even though he had risen quickly and had been recently promoted to Corporal. He realized early on that he did just enough to keep his drill sergeants happy and off his back. He did little to bring attention to himself or his accomplishments, and his main motivation was simply to be left alone.

It was a curiosity that he was being pushed into more high level specialties. When he was approached to go on this little adventure, he said ok; the same way he said ok all of the other times he was asked to train in a new military discipline. He didn't know why he said yes all the time. He guessed that the Army was trying to find him a specialty that he would really enjoy, and decide to make a career out of it. He knew that on paper he was a good soldier, his test scores and high grades on the training exercises showed that. But his actions and lack of willingness to fall into the specifics of the system always stood out as a black spot on his evaluations. None of his instructors had a good thing to say about him. Poor attitude, lack of discipline, disrespect to authority; these were the comments most often used to describe him.

The two greenshirts arrived at their designated lot, dropped their gear, and began working to set up their home for the next six weeks. It was a standard two man Army tent, ten feet long, eight feet wide, and eight feet in height. Both of them had set up these tents so many times that once they located the proper poles, the tent quickly took shape. They expertly staked down the tent and then tossed their cots, sheets, and clothing inside before running to the flag pole in the yard behind the farm house. When they arrived with time to spare the larger greenshirt turned to his roommate and introduced himself. "PFC Daniel Mitchell," he said as he stuck out his hand.

"Corporal Travis Brown," the other spoke as he reached to shake the man's hand. Mitchell pulled his hand away and quickly saluted. "Knock that shit off," Brown said and grasped Mitchell's hand in a firm shake, "we're all the same rank here." He spoke with the experience of someone who had been in many mixed rank training courses.

The group made small talk until Beach Head called them all to attention. "Welcome to The Farm," he shouted. "For the next six weeks I will be teaching you skills that you will need to mentally survive the rigors of combat! I am going to run you into the ground, I'm going to break your spirit! You will run so long, and do so many push ups that you will want to commit suicide! After every day of training, you will lay in bed at night and dream of me suffering the nastiest, most painful death you can imagine because I am such a heartless, uncaring bastard! Guess what, I don't give a rat's ass what you think!" He screamed that last statement into the face of the closest greenshirt he could find. "If you can fight through the pain, and keep a clear head, then you will survive! If not…then when the real thing happens, you're gonna die!" He scanned the greenshirts to see if what he was saying was sinking in.

"A few things you need to know about this camp. The house is strictly off limits to you. If anyone sets foot in there you will be sent home immediately. You are allowed on the deck, and a bar has been set up for use in your down time…if I think you deserve down time." He smirked as he watched the recruits' excitement fade. "Secondly, the lot of you is representative of the best each branch of the military has to offer, but you will be treated as if you are fresh off the bus recruits going through their first week of Basic. There is no rank amongst you, and you salute only your instructors." He then walked over to the porch and pressed a button. A loud siren wailed through the afternoon calm. As the siren continued he walked back and addressed the greenshirts, "this sound will be your call to gather for training," he shouted over the noise. "Whenever you hear this you have five minutes to get your sorry asses assembled with your pack and your helmet in front of Old Glory!" He pointed to the flag, "do not be late!" Beach Head looked toward a man standing next to the siren's trigger and gave him a nod. The man turned off the racket and Beach Head continued speaking, "As of this moment, everything you do will be evaluated. If I deem you unsatisfactory, I will throw you out. If you don't want to do something, speak up and quit. It makes no difference to me. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant," the group responded.

"I think it's a nice afternoon for a run, so file in behind me and try to keep up," Beach Head ordered. He took off toward the tree line and the greenshirts ran after him. Brown waited until everyone started, and then followed the rest of the recruits along a trail that headed up the mountain. He shook his head and let out a sigh when Beach Head yelled from the front of the line, "hurry up, maggots!"


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

The whole point of the camp was to test the best soldiers in the military, and see which ones would make a valuable addition to the GI Joe team. Beach Head was supposed to do everything he could to intimidate them, frighten them, and push them to their absolute limits. Other members of the Joe team would spend time at the camp giving the recruits advanced instruction in marksmanship, self defense, survival skills, and military strategy. Conditions were primitive on purpose so the greenshirts would learn the true meaning of 'roughing it'. Even though the basis of the camp would focus on physical training, the point was to gauge each greenshirt's mental and emotional strength. What the instructors wanted to see was which recruit would show the qualities that would surpass all of the true lessons: leadership, teamwork, and the ability to simply get the job done.

Lowlight had been at the camp from the beginning and every other day he would lead the greenshirts onto the shooting range. It had been almost two weeks, and he was really getting tired of being here. None of these recruits seemed to grasp what he tried to teach them about shooting. They all seemed to be trying so hard to out do each other that they weren't focusing on the deeper meaning of his instructions. A few showed promise, but it would take a lot of work to turn them into his high expectations of 'crack shots'. They were working with hand guns today and each recruit was using the standard military Colt model .45 caliber sidearm. A greenshirt named Davidson wasn't doing very well. He approached and tried to help the recruit increase his marksmanship, "Squeeze the trigger, don't yank back on it. The only thing that should move is your index finger. Keep your arms still and don't anticipate the recoil. Settle down, and gently squeeze the trigger."

Davidson leveled his pistol and did the exact opposite of what Low Light just told him. "Sir, I think my sights are off."

Low Light took the pistol from the recruit's hand, cleared his mind and fired off three shots that hit dead center in the target. He handed the sidearm back to the recruit and said, "there's nothing wrong with that gun."

"Boy, you couldn't hit the broad side of a bull's ass in fly season," Mitchell joked from a few spots down, and the greenshirts who heard broke into laughter.

Davidson flipped him off as Low Light shook his head and slowly walked toward him. After a few minutes he approached Mitchell. "Open your action," he said, and the greenshirt dropped the clip and pulled back the slide to eject the bullet that was readied in the chamber. "Nice shooting."

"Thank you, Sir," he replied.

"You ever shoot at a living thing," Low Light asked.

"Yes, Sir," Mitchell proudly responded, "my brothers and I went hunting every year back in Kentucky."

"I bet you did," he said in his gravelly voice. "You ever hit anything?"

"Once or twice," Mitchell stammered. The rest of the greenshirts had stopped and were watching closely.

Low Light took the gun from him and loaded one bullet into the chamber. "You have three seconds to kill your enemy. When I say go, take aim and shoot your enemy in the head." He handed him the pistol, and quietly drew his own sidearm form its holster. "GO!"

Mitchell raised the gun and suddenly a hail of gunfire sounded around his head. Low Light was randomly firing shots next to him, and yelling, "Shoot! Kill him! Hurry!" Mitchell pulled the trigger and the bullet sailed wide left of the mark. Low Light leaned in and spoke into his ear, "You just died."

The silence that fell over the range was deafening. Low Light began to address all the recruits in his calm and quiet tone. "Anyone can hit paper. The only accuracy that matters is when you're on the battlefield. Bullets are flying around you, your friends are bleeding and dying next to you, and you have to take a life. Can you do it? Can you look someone in the eyes and kill them?" He looked at the stunned expressions the greenshirts were giving him and bowed his head. He let out a heavy sigh and said, "we're done here. You'll never learn what you really need to know shooting at cardboard cutouts and hay bales." He put his hand on one of Mitchell's shoulders and stared into his eyes, "hay bales don't…shoot…back." He then turned and walked off the range.

It turned out to be a rough afternoon for the recruits. After their failure on the rifle range that morning, Beach Head allowed his anger to dictate the severity of the exercises. He decided that a few hours of wind sprints in full gear, would be great for starters. "Christ, this is worse than football camp," Richardson muttered as the group took a brief rest between sprints.

"Camp was never that bad to begin with," Mitchell tried to rationalize.

"It was at the Academy," Richardson shot back as they began what seemed like their thousandth race of the day.

"Move it! I want it done faster," Beach Head yelled as the greenshirts tromped to a stop just past him. "It's only a hundred yards you pansies, don't tell me you're tired already!" The group turned and began their slow jog back to the starting line. "Thirty seconds until we start again…better hurry!"

"God, I hate this asshole," Richardson lamented as Beach Head's voice boomed after them, counting down intervals of time. "I'd really like to run his sorry ass over."

"Go for it," Mitchell egged him on.

"I've run over offensive linemen that were bigger than him," Richardson continued. "I'd break that son of a bitch in half."

"Knock it off," Brown said from a few spots down the line, "you do that and you'll be out of here before you hit the ground."

"It would be worth it," he responded, talking himself into the idea.

"Sure…if you want to spend the rest of your life in the brig," Brown reasoned with him as they reached the starting line and prepared for the Sergeant to finish his countdown.

"Yeah," Mitchell began to change his tune, "its one thing to talk about it, but doing it is just plain stupid."

"I fucking hate that bastard," Richardson said as Beach Head hollered go. The group ran again and he knew that he wasn't going to run over his CO, regardless of how angry he was. He loved being in the Air Force and there was nothing more exciting than soaring through the air at mach 1, chasing enemy aircraft. But as he reveled in his memories the unthinkable happened. The former middle linebacker began to lose his balance and started to stumble in Beach Head's direction. He slowed down and struggled to remain upright, but the attempt was futile. He was too close to the Sergeant to avoid a collision and plowed into Beach Head, landing squarely on top of him.

Beach Head was watching a lagging recruit at the far end of the line and didn't notice Richardson leaning in his direction at the finish line. By the time he caught the motion from the corner of his eye it was too late. He tried to side-step the charging greenshirt, but only managed to turn into him, and take the full force of the hit. As they tumbled to the ground Beach Head tried to roll through Richardson and land on top of him, but he had no leverage. He instead found Richardson's left wrist with his right hand and twisted it behind him, as he wormed his way onto his side. He continued to twist the recruit's arm until he was out from underneath, then rolled him onto his back and planted a knee across Richardson's throat. "What the fuck is wrong with you, you stupid son of a bitch!" Beach Head was livid. He felt as if he had been purposefully attacked and was going to get some personal revenge on this kid before kicking his sorry ass out of his camp and his military. He gave him a quick slap upside his head and yelled, "Do you have any idea what the penalty for assaulting a superior is?"

"It was an accident, Sergeant," Richardson moaned, trying to inhale.

"An accident," Beach Head questioned, "boy, you're about to have a serious accident!" He shifted his weight and put more pressure on the recruit's windpipe.

"I swear to God, Sergeant, I tripped. I didn't mean it!" His voice had gotten weak and he was struggling to draw breath. Beach Head reached back and slapped him once again, the crack of his open hand on Richardson's face sounding loud and clear.

Beach Head stared at the downed soldier with hatred in his eyes. As he curled his fingers into a fist and prepared to deliver a blow, he vaguely heard someone call to him. Then someone grabbed his arm and pulled him off of the greenshirt and he heard his name called again.

"Sergeant! That's enough!" Another greenshirt had stepped in and broken up the fracas. Beach Head quickly got to his feet and advanced on the offending party. "Sergeant, wait," he said as he held up his hands, "it was an accident. I saw him trip. He didn't mean to run into you."

Beach Head stopped directly in front of the recruit, the rage in his mind clearing. "Don't ever lay your hands on me again, Brown," he growled.

"I was only trying to explain to you what happened," Brown protested. "I meant no disrespect, Sergeant." He glanced over at Richardson who had slowly gotten to his feet and was rubbing his bruised throat. "I saw Richardson lose his balance, and he didn't have time to correct himself before running into you."

Beach Head regarded him with disdain, "so you know for a fact that he didn't intend to run into me? Explain how you could know that! Do you have some sort of psychic gift of which we are unaware?"

"No, Sergeant," Brown replied in a confused tone, "but why would he purposefully do something like that? We all know that it would mean the end of our careers." Beach Head seemed unconvinced so Brown continued. "Besides, it's not like he was standing down there telling everyone he was going to do it." The rest of the greenshirts had grouped together during the fight and now exchanged wary glances at this bold faced lie.

"You've got a smart mouth, and a bad attitude," Beach Head screamed at him. "I should have you tossed out of here with him!"

"And I should have you court marshaled for physically abusing a trainee." Beach Head stood in shock. Brown looked up at him, but his forceful stare never wavered from his CO's eyes. He continued to speak in a quiet, even tone, "I'm sure you're aware of what the penalty for assaulting a subordinate is." Beach Head felt his anger rise as a version of his own words was thrown back at him. "It's a two way street, Sergeant. The whole incident was an accident, and in no way intentional. Take it out on him during PT, not by beating the shit out of him."

Beach Head wrestled with his rage. The greenshirt was correct in all that he said, and he knew that satisfying his urge to rip the kid's head off would mean bad news, so he relaxed. He thought of kicking Brown out of camp on the grounds of insubordination, but decided that he'd rather make him quit. "Fine," he spoke in a stern voice, "but since you seem to care so much about his well being, you can join him."

"Yes, Sergeant," Brown replied immediately.

The Sergeant turned to face Richardson and gave him a strong warning, "I'm going to take your word for it and pretend that your natural clumsiness caused you to run into me. Do not give me any reason to change my mind!" The recruit could only nod in agreement. "Now get your bumbling ass down to the other end of the line and try not to trip over any of your teammates on the way by!" He turned to the group as Richardson hurried away from him. "I ain't through with you punks yet," he shouted. "Next sprint starts in thirty seconds so get moving!" As the greenshirts ran back to the starting line again he eyed Brown the whole way. "Ain't no way you're passing this training," he vowed to himself. "I'll wash you out of here in a week." He raised his voice to the retreating recruits, "fifteen seconds!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Scarlett was lounging in the stream that flowed through the woods in back of the farm. She sat on a flat rock, leaning back on her hands. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, the water rushing past her just below her breasts. The water was chilly when you first got in, but after a few minutes you got used to it and it felt rather refreshing. The early afternoon sun was shining through the trees and the parts of her body that were out of the water got warm after a while. She had been in the camp for about a week and got to witness first hand how sadistic Beach Head could be when he put his mind to it. She really believed that his goal at the beginning of his training sessions was to have every single recruit quit within the first week. He was doing a pretty good job of it too. The new greenshirts had been here three weeks and five had gone home, four by their own choice. One, a fellow by the name of Kramer, was deemed unworthy when he failed to complete Beach Head's obstacle course on three straight attempts. But the ones who remained looked like they might be here to stay. Of the eight men and two women still standing, a few had some potential. She had the opportunity to observe them during the training exercises she had been involved in, and with the proper grooming, there was at least one Joe in the group. Tonight Snake Eyes was due to arrive and then the two of them would be teaching a week long advanced martial arts class. At the thought of Snake Eyes she closed her eyes and tilted her head back far enough so that her scalp dipped into the cool river. It had been almost a month since she had seen him, and over a week since she had spoken to him. Neither experience had ended well. She wasn't sure of the exact reason why, but their relationship had really gone sour as of late.

Suddenly she felt as if she was being watched. Her eyes flew open and she sat up quickly, turning her head towards where she sensed the intruding presence. A man stood at the end of the trail leading back to the farm house. He was shirtless with a towel draped around his shoulders, and his silver dog tags shone brightly in the sun's rays. The look on his face was calm, but his wide eyes betrayed him. He seemed just as startled as she was, but he managed to speak first.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," he said as he snapped to attention and saluted her, "I didn't know anyone was down here."

"At ease, soldier," she spoke cautiously, trying to hide the flutter in her voice since being startled. "What's your name and purpose?"

"Private…I mean Corporal Brown, Ma'am," he stammered.

"Private Corporal? That's not a rank I'm familiar with," she smirked.

"Sorry, Ma'am, I was recently promoted and Private still sounds right," he laughed at himself. He continued, "I came down here to take a bath."

It was now that she noticed the small toiletry bag in his left hand. For some reason she suddenly became very aware of her body, dressed only in an emerald green bikini, and resisted the urge to cover herself. To do so would show weakness. "Carry on," she said as she turned away from him.

"Um…Ma'am," Brown spoke timidly, "I wasn't planning on being modest. I didn't pack a set of trunks, and I need all the dry pair of drawers I can get."

Scarlett let a smile cross her lips and chuckled to herself. "Go ahead Corporal. Do what you gotta do."

"Thank you Ma'am," he said as he advanced down the rocky bank to the water's edge. He plopped himself down on a tree stump and began to untie his boots.

Since the camp had no running water outside of the farm house, all the greenshirts had to wander down to the creek in order to bathe. It was another part of their 'roughing it' training. Scarlett took a quick peek over her shoulder to note the progress the greenshirt had made in undressing himself. His back was to her, and she caught him as he was kicking his boxers off of his left foot. She very quickly turned back to her original position. "That is one nice rear end," she muttered under her breath. She heard a large splash as the greenshirt submerged himself in the stream. She chanced another look over in his direction as he popped out of the water, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. The depth of the water was just barely high enough to cover his hip bones, but she could see the thin line of dark brown hair extending from his navel to… She quickly turned away again and snapped her eyes shut as if to block out everything that she saw. Still, she found herself taking in every detail the mental image held, the definition in his hairless chest, his how lean his torso was, the strength in his arms. For some reason, she felt the urge to make conversation with him. "You know you're going to get dirty again in half an hour," she called out of nowhere.

"Yes Ma'am," he responded as he vigorously massaged shampoo into his hair. Scarlett noticed that it was much longer than standard army length. She was surprised that Beach Head hadn't buzzed him. Brown continued answering her question, "I had some down time, and since I haven't had a chance to properly wash in a few days, I figured I'd take the opportunity."

"You can call me Scarlett," she said to him. "Why the hell did I just say that," she thought to herself. She composed herself and addressed him again, "how do you like it here?" The voice of her mind shouted a confused, "WHAT?"

He dunked himself into the stream and after half a minute popped up again, giving her the same image she saw earlier. This time she didn't turn away. "It's not bad," he said nonchalantly. "The Sergeant actually has some good advice to follow once you get past all the intimidation bullshit." Scarlett was glad his eyes were closed so he couldn't see the look of disbelief on her face. He grabbed the soap out of the plastic case that was floating near him and began to wash himself. "My bunk mate was going to walk a few weeks ago, but I told him to filter out all of the yelling and focus on what he's trying to teach us. I think that helped."

Scarlett once again had to conceal her surprised expression at how well he grasped the psychology of the situation. She searched her mind for some sort of reply but all the ideas that came to her seemed silly. She instead chose to close her eyes and return to her river lounging. But there was a nagging sense of awkwardness, so she decided to leave. She stood from her previously comfortable position and made her way towards the stream bank.

Brown gazed at her retreating form and stood like a fool as she seemed to move in slow motion. The water splashed around her toned calves as she unconsciously reached both hands behind her and pulled the wedgie her bikini bottoms had created out of her butt. "Wow…that is a great ass." He shook his head to clear his thoughts and quickly submerged himself in the water. When he came back up she was twisting her long, red hair and letting the excess water drip onto the stones below her. He was finished bathing and was about to walk out of the stream himself when he remembered that he was naked. He decided to wait, and distracted himself by wading upstream to where Scarlett had been sitting. He glanced over at her as she pulled a pair of shorts over her knees. She was bent at such an angle that her cleavage was presented to him in all of its glory. The water was shallow here, so he knelt down and fished around the stream bed for a flat rock. He found one and watched as she pulled a tee shirt over her head. As soon as her forehead was visible, he turned away and skipped the rock he was holding up the stream's surface.

"Nice to meet you Corporal Brown," she yelled from the shore line. "Good luck." Good luck? Why the hell would she tell some worthless greenshirt good luck? He waved and she quickly made her way up the path. The farther she got from the stream, the better she felt, but she stopped ten feet from the tree line and a sort of dawning comprehension came to her. "Nice to meet you," she questioned herself. "What a dumb thing to say! God, he must think I'm retarded!" She took a moment then resumed her monologue, "why do I care what he thinks?" Then in a more exasperated tone, "what the hell just happened?"

After she was gone Brown made his way to the shore and started toweling himself off. "There's nothing like watching a woman doing everyday things. She's sexiest when she has no idea that she's being sexy," he said to himself. He allowed himself to replay those images for a second before realizing what he was doing. Fantasizing about a superior was a bad idea. "What if she caught me looking at her," he panicked. "She must think I'm a complete asshole!" He took a moment before resuming his monologue, "why do I care what she thinks?" Then in a more flustered tone, "what the hell just happened?"

Scarlett wasn't kidding when she said that Brown would be getting sweaty again soon. Not two minutes after he returned to his tent, Beach Head started them running up and down the mountain trail in full gear. It was 2.5 miles from bottom to top, and the greenshirts were on their third ascent.

Corporal Brown was running near the back of the group, not because he was tired, but because he preferred to be there. He liked to be able to see everyone in front of him, and be sure that no one lagged behind. He noticed one of the female recruits start to stagger and then drop to her knees at the side of the trail. He immediately ran to her, lifted her up, and forced her to continue, ignoring her claims that she couldn't do it. He dragged her along for a few hundred yards before she dropped to her knees again and proclaimed that she had nothing left. Brown stopped, kneeled down next to her and reasoned with her, "I thought you were a Marine? You see, the Sergeant is just an Army Ranger. How can you pack up and go home to the Marines knowing that an Army brat pushed you to give up?"

She looked at him and asked, "aren't you a Ranger? How can you talk about your own kind like that?"

"It's true I'm a Ranger," he acted almost ashamed as he admitted it. "But we're not the same kind. I don't think I'm quite the gaping asshole that he is." She laughed in spite of herself. "I must have been absent that day of training." She giggled again and he smiled back at her.

Beach Head's voice called to them from ahead of the group, "Brown, Alvarez, get your asses in gear!" Brown held out his hand, and when she grasped it he pulled her to her feet. He gave her a nudge and they took off after the group.

Beach Head was sitting in his room looking over the daily grades of the greenshirts when Scarlett knocked on his door. "Enter," he shouted and turned to see who was disturbing him. "Oh, hey," he acknowledged as Scarlett pushed open the door.

"What are you doing," she asked.

"Grading today's progress," he stated.

"Mind if I take a look," she asked him as she leaned over his shoulder.

"Not that I could stop you," he drawled with a hint of playful anger in his voice.

She picked up a random file and read the name, "Daniel Mitchell." She perused the first few pages and noted, "you don't seem to care for this one."

"He's an engineering genius," he stated, "but I just can't find a single worthwhile quality that we could use in the field. He's fat, he's slow, and he's scared. He relies on his teammates too much…can't act on his own."

She finished looking over Mitchell's file, threw it down and picked up another one. She felt her heart jump into her throat when she recognized whose file it was. "Wow, you really hate this one, don't you?"

"You must be looking at Corporal Travis Brown," Beach Head almost spat to cleanse his palate after having said that toxic name. "That boy gets on my last nerve. He's insubordinate, he lacks discipline, and he doesn't seem to give a rat's ass about anything."

"I don't know," she said, "for someone who doesn't seem to care, he grades pretty well."

"Yeah, that's what really pisses me off," Beach Head lamented. "Every training he's done, he passed the requirements with no problem." He leaned forward and pointed to the file, "but if you notice, none of his COs liked him at all. You can tell that if they could have gotten away with it, they would have failed him."

"How do the rest of the greenshirts respond to him," Scarlett inquired.

"That's the thing," Beach Head responded as he leaned back in his chair, "every GI you talk to that ever spent time with him says that he's the greatest person they've ever known."

"The more the instructor hates him, the more the trainees respect him," Scarlett mused to herself.

"Something like that," he agreed.

She spent another minute going over his file before closing it and putting it back on Beach Head's desk. "Give him a fair chance," she said flatly. "There's obviously something intangible about this kid that could work for us." She turned to walk away and decided that she should firmly place herself on Beach Head's side, "Tomorrow Snake Eyes and I will find out what he's made of."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

After leaving Beach Head's quarters, Scarlett heard the phone ringing across the hall in her own room. She ran in and picked it up, hoping that she hadn't missed the call. She was greeted with the clicking of the T T Y machine she used to talk with Snake Eyes. She plugged the machine on her end into the phone and began the conversation. "Hey baby, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," the machine clicked. "Where were you?"

There he goes being possessive again. "I was talking to Beach Head about a few of the greenshirts."

"Anything important," he asked.

"No, just getting familiar with them," she responded. A silence fell between them and she continued to make small talk, "I thought you were coming in tonight?"

"Change of plans," he said. "I'll be arriving at camp around 0800 tomorrow."

"Is something wrong," she questioned.

"No," he said. She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing for what seemed like an eternity. When Scarlett didn't prompt him he tried to end the conversation, "I've got to go. I just wanted to let you know I'd be late."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted, "that's it?"

"Yeah, basically," he replied. After a few seconds of silence he spoke again, "look, I called…I didn't want you to worry."

Scarlett felt her anger rise and didn't try to conceal it in her tone, "does this have anything to do with our last conversation?"

"I don't want to get into this right now," he said. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"No, we'll talk now! You realize that YOU'RE the one who is supposed to teach this class tomorrow, right? Now you're hanging me out to dry, and forcing me to plan this lesson before you get here," she screamed at him. What really pissed her off about this stupid machine was that he could hear every bit of emotion in her voice, but his side of the conversation came through in standard, unchanging block letters.

"It's easy," he responded. "We'll do the same thing we always do on the first day. Don't worry about it."

"Unbelievable," was all she could manage.

"What's wrong," the machine asked her.

"Oh, don't even start now," she spat at him. "You're right; you called and played the roll of concerned boyfriend. How dare I diminish that?"

"Shana, come on," he tried to reason. "If you want to talk, let's talk."

"Give me a break," she shot back at him. "It's always the same with you! No matter what happens between us, you're always the same uncompromising bastard!"

"Fine. Goodbye," the machine said and went blank.

Scarlett slammed the hand set hard into its cradle. She thought for a moment that she had broken it, but when she picked it up again the dial tone rang loud and clear. She hung up and sat in her chair waiting to see if he'd call back. She knew he wouldn't, but she waited anyway. After five minutes she decided that she needed a drink to calm her nerves, and headed downstairs to the makeshift bar that was set up on the deck. She approached the bartender and ordered a whiskey and water. When he delivered it she took a sip, and then quickly finished the glass. "How about another," she said.

The bartender filled her glass again and asked in his fatherly way, "you ok, Red?"

She downed only half of the drink this time and said, "yeah. I'll be better if you top me off."

"Ok, but this is it for a while," he said and she took his advice without question.

She looked around the deck and saw that only two greenshirts were present tonight. They leaned against the railing, casually drinking their beers and conversing about the status of the cave they had noticed on this morning's run around the mountain. She believed it was Lieutenant Davidson and Lieutenant Richardson and searched her mind for any specifics she remembered from their files. She knew they were both Air Force, and were the best pilot and reel that the service had to offer. She was still feeling the effects of another horrible phone call with Snake Eyes and decided to walk it off. She took her drink with her and wandered around the grounds until she came to the edge of the line of tents that housed the greenshirts. Her mind thought back to this afternoon's encounter with "Private Corporal" Brown, and a smile crept onto her face. She watched as the troops that had gathered interacted with each other. They sat around a radio that was playing a tape of 80's power ballads and were singing along at the tops of their lungs. When one of them started walking in her direction she immediately retreated into the shadows and hurried across the field.

The night was cloudy, but the full moon shined enough light through the cloud cover to easily navigate. She reached the apex of the rise and sat down on the grass. "Shit," she said out loud as the dew on the grass soaked into the butt of her jeans. "Oh well," she thought, "too late now," and settled into the night time quiet. She could still hear the faint sounds of the greenshirt's radio, and tried to concentrate on what song was being played.

"I think its Skid Row," a voice spoke from behind her and she jumped to her feet. She was less concerned with the way he snuck up on her than the way he seemed to read her mind. "Sorry," the voice continued, "I didn't mean to startle you. He could tell she was still wired so he introduced himself. "It's Corporal Brown. We met at the swimming hole earlier today."

Scarlett composed herself and answered him, "you guys call it the swimming hole?"

"It's the military," he stated, "everything needs a name." He took a few steps toward her and continued, "besides, it sounded a lot better than Checkpoint Charlie."

She laughed and agreed with him, "yes it does."

It seemed as if a switch clicked in his brain as he snapped to attention and saluted her. "Sorry Ma'am, I forgot where I was for a second there."

She instinctively returned his salute and told him, "don't worry about it. Where I come from we really only salute the General."

"Still…just know I meant no disrespect to you," he said. They stood in silence for a few seconds before he asked, "what are you doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here," she retorted. Christ, what are you, in third grade?

He answered her honestly, "it's quiet, and since I rarely get the chance to have any sort of silence, it's nice to come out here at night when it's truly peaceful."

Scarlett listened to the nothingness, and part of her agreed that it was indeed very peaceful. She looked down at the ground and yelled, "son of a bitch!"

"What's wrong," he asked.

"I knocked over my drink when I jumped up to greet you," she said with a disgusted tone in her voice.

"Damn, I'm sorry," Brown responded. "What were you drinking?"

"Whiskey," she stated absently as she bent down to pick up the overturned glass. "Don't worry about it. It's probably better that I didn't finish it."

He picked up on the light tone of sadness in her voice and kneeled down next to her. "Is everything ok?"

She looked up and found herself looking directly into his eyes. The moon cast just enough light that she could see half of his face in perfect clarity, while the other half was shrouded in darkness. But his eyes still held her. The dark half of his face reminded her of someone, and she turned away before she let on how upset she really was. She looked toward the line of tents that she had recently retreated from and tried to find the beat to the song that floated up to her.

"Hysteria," he said and immediately began to explain himself. "Def Leppard…they changed songs." When she didn't respond, he did his best Joe Elliot impersonation and sang the chorus for her. "I get hysterical…hysteria…oh can you feel it…oh can you feel it…do you believe it…do you believe it." She couldn't help but laugh at the absurd falsetto voice he used to fill in the background vocals. "What," he questioned. "That's how the song goes."

Scarlett continued laughing and tried to apologize but realized that she couldn't. Through her laughter she managed to say, "actually, I don't think I've ever heard it sung better."

"Really?" When she burst into hysterical laughter again he acted upset, "thanks, thanks a lot. Thank you for making fun of me like that." She continued to laugh so he continued to draw attention to it, "here I am, trying to help you identify a classic song from a well established British band, and all you can do is focus on my lack of singing ability." Her laughter was now bringing tears to her eyes. "Well…screw you lady! See if I ever try to be nice to you again!" He stood up and pretended to walk away muttering to himself, "some folks just don't appreciate a true artist."

"Wait," she managed to say between fits of laughter, "don't go." She suddenly sobered up when she realized what she had just said.

He turned and sat down in the grass next to her with a smile on his face. "Goddamn it," he yelled, and jumped as the wet grass dampened his pants. This brought another round of laughter from her and he waited for her to become serious again. "So…what's bothering you?"

Scarlett wanted to tell him that it was none of his business. Warn him that being too candid with a superior could mean big trouble for him. But she looked at him and wiped the tears from her eyes that had changed from tears of laughter to tears of sadness. For some reason she felt as though she could talk to this kid and he wouldn't pass judgment on her. "I got a call from someone tonight and it didn't go well." He remained silent and waited for her to continue at her own pace. "I guess I just feel stupid because I thought that even though we were so different, we could end up the same." Still he made no comments. "We used to be great together, but lately it seems that every time we get together we fight more than we fuck." She quickly turned her head to look at him after her brazen display of inappropriateness, but his expression didn't change, and he stayed quiet. "Sorry to be so vulgar." No sound from him. "I just don't know what to do." She buried her head in her hands and let out an exasperated sigh. "I just feel so stupid right now," she repeated through her hands.

Brown waited a few seconds and then responded to her statement, "sometimes our feelings of love get clouded by our memories of love. It's hard to tell them apart after a while." He waited a few seconds and then added, "I guess that's why they say love is a double edged sword, not a double edged Wiffle bat or a double edged square of bubble wrap." She looked at him and the glow of the moon illuminated her face so he could perfectly read her expression. "I know…I'm an idiot."

She continued to stare blankly at him and eventually managed to say, "actually, you're right."

Cautiously he spoke, "about what?"

"The sword thing," she answered.

"What about the idiot thing," curiosity and timidness edging his voice.

She smiled to herself, "still working on that one."

"HA HA," he sarcastically replied, "you're funny!" She giggled again.

The two of them sat in silence for a long time only speaking when they called out the title and artist that identified the next song that rolled up the hill at them. She had no idea how much time had passed when she finally stood to begin her walk home. "I think I'm going to hit the sack."

"Hang on, I'll go with you…I mean…" he began to back track hoping she wouldn't take it the wrong way. She just smiled at him and waited to see how he'd recover. "I'll walk with you, then bid you farewell as we part company…separately…in different directions." The two of them slowly walked across the field towards the farm house. They reached a point in the yard where it would make sense for them to go their separate ways and Brown stopped. Scarlett looked back at him and tried to think of a proper parting comment. He looked at her and put a hand on her shoulder, "you'll figure out exactly what you want." He paused for a second and then added, "you'd be surprised at how easily it will come to you." With that he turned and started towards his tent.

"Travis," she called after him. Until the day she died she would never know why she used his first name. He stopped and faced her. So many things went through her mind, but she settled on a simple, "goodnight." She saw him smile at her before he once again turned to walk home.

As Scarlett entered the farm house she became concerned at how vulnerable she had made herself to a subordinate. What if he doesn't respect her now? What if he won't follow her instructions? How will she explain to Beach Head the reasons for his "power" over her? Her worry subsided the more she thought about it, and the details of his file began to hit her. He would never let on to anyone else that they had ever spoken to each other. What happened between them would stay between them unless she decided to make it known. She began to realize why his fellow soldiers liked him so much. After the military formalities were out of the way, he fell into an easy, natural flow of conversation. He made it feel like two old friends rehashing their memories of youth. Once the superior officer said 'at ease' he truly was, and so was everyone around him. She walked upstairs and opened the door to her bedroom. The window looked out over the row of tents that housed all of the greenshirts. She saw him talking to the couple of them who were still awake before heading to bed. She undressed herself, and as she crawled under the covers, she felt a sense of relief that Snake Eyes would be in his own room when he arrived tomorrow. The lyrics to "Hysteria" filled her head as she drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

The next day dawned hazy and humid. At 0600 when Beach Head roused the greenshirts it was already 72 degrees. He started them on a brisk ten mile run, and after ninety minutes of conditioning they were introduced to their new hand to hand combat instructor. "This is Snake Eyes," Beach Head announced. "He is one of the most accomplished martial artists in the world, and is a Master of many different styles. Follow his instructions and you might not get your asses kicked." He smirked to himself as the group exchanged worried looks. He paused before continuing, "Snake Eyes doesn't speak, but he can hear everything you say. In order to help you understand his instruction, Scarlett will be assisting him today. She is a Master of Tae Kwon Do, Ken Po, Jujitsu, and Jeet Kun Do, so watch yourselves. The faster you morons can learn sign language, the better off you'll be." He glared at the recruits before adding, "as always you will be graded on this exercise, so don't screw up."

Snake Eyes and Scarlett approached the greenshirts and instructed them to kneel down in a semi-circle. When they were settled Scarlett began the instructions, "you all have a basic background in hand to hand combat that you picked up during your military career. What we will be doing in the next week is giving you advanced training in fighting techniques, as well as schooling you in the use of ancient and silent weapons. The purpose is to enable you to defend yourself when you don't have a firearm at your disposal."

Snake Eyes stepped forward and signed another reason for their training. "The ability to disable your enemy in complete silence has multiple uses; under cover, stealth missions, rescue missions, and any other situation when you want to get in and out without being noticed."

Scarlett had translated for him, and when he finished she focused on today's session. "We will begin by refreshing our skills with some light contact sparring." She watched as Snake Eyes randomly pointed to two greenshirts and then sent them off to practice. He continued to do so until everyone was paired. "Spread out," she said to them. "Go slow to start. Get familiar with the motions. Trade off throwing jabs at each other as your partner blocks." After a few minutes Snake Eyes gave her a nod and she instructed them again, "start with counts of three. One of you will throw any combination of three punches which your partner will defend. Then switch and the other will attack while you defend."

Snake Eyes began to circulate through the group, stopping occasionally to correct a greenshirt's technique. He noticed that two of them were moving slower than he liked, so he went over to them. As he approached, he saw one take the other's hand and correct his position. He then threw the punches again and Snake Eyes heard one congratulate the other. He then threw three simple punches back and congratulated him again when they were successfully blocked. Snake Eyes stepped in between them and signed, "faster."

The slower recruit explained, "he told us to go faster."

"What's your name," he asked.

"McMurray," he responded.

"You don't seem to have even a basic grasp of hand to hand combat," Snake Eyes said.

"It wasn't my best subject during Basic," McMurray explained. "I was better at linguistics so that's where the Navy focused my attention."

Snake Eyes shook his head and turned to the other recruit, "what's your name?"

He waited for McMurray to translate and then answered, "Brown, Sir."

"What are you trying to do, Brown," he asked.

When he was told what was said he replied, "teaching him the proper ways so that he doesn't hurt himself." Snake Eyes got in his face and made a bunch of gestures with his hands that meant absolutely nothing to him. "I'm sorry sir, but I didn't understand any of that."

"He asked if you thought you were helping him by going so slow," Scarlett stepped in. "The enemy won't take it slow, or try to help him, and neither should you." Snake Eyes signed some more and Scarlett spoke, "hit him in the mouth a few times and he'll learn to get his hands up." He gave Scarlett another nod and she yelled to the rest of the recruits, "speed it up! Go to counts of four and start mixing in some kicks as well!" Snake Eyes marched off to Beach Head and the two had a conversation.

Brown and McMurray began their sparring again and Scarlett watched them as she wandered amongst the practicing greenshirts. Brown was still holding back, even though he had gotten a bit more intense in his attacks. She noticed that he pulled his punches whenever he made contact. He also easily dodged any attack that McMurray threw at him. As a highly skilled martial artist she could tell that Brown had an advanced knowledge of the discipline. She suddenly realized that she had walked back over to them and was staring directly at him. She had ceased observing the training and her focus fell only on him. The quickness with which he moved, the control he exhibited, and the grace his body possessed held her attention. She snapped out of her staring fit and quickly turned away from him.

She saw Snake Eyes approaching and called the group to attention. He began to instruct the greenshirts on various grapples, throws and submission techniques. She watched as he demonstrated and she made comments when it was appropriate. They paired off and began to practice. She watched as Snake Eyes gave pointers and found herself watching Brown again. "What's going on with me," she wondered to herself. "I'm gonna get kicked out of the Army if I keep this up."

After a few hours of bumps and bruises, Beach Head walked over and whispered something to Snake Eyes. He nodded and with Scarlett's help, gave the greenshirts some final instructions before bowing, and then dismissing them into Beach Head's care. He sent the recruits to lunch and Scarlett watched as Brown filed in behind the group and jogged to the mess hall. She turned and caught Snake Eyes looking at her and went over to join him and Beach Head. She could tell by the way he was standing that he was not happy with her right now. A confrontation between them was inevitable and her hopes of spending a nice week with him came crashing down.

During the greenshirt's time with Snake Eyes, Beach Head had made some modifications to the lawn surrounding the farm house. He had cluttered the area with logs, piles of rocks and a few orange construction cones. When the recruits gathered after lunch, he outfitted each of them with a special rifle, helmet, and body padding. Basically they were given a high tech version of Laser Tag. Beach Head explained that they would be participating in a basic game of capture the flag. The rules were simple, get the opposing team's flag without getting yourself or your teammates killed. They had to stay within the perimeter of the orange cones, and no hiding inside any of the buildings. He separated them into two teams and gave them three minutes to form a strategy. He would then sound a start to the exercise and they would begin. This would be a timed event and they would be graded both as a team, and individually. Each team would know where the other's flag was, so this exercise was about your military training, not how well you can hide something.

As the two teams retreated to their respective camps, Scarlett and Snake Eyes took their places on the roof of the farm house, and the supply shed, respectively. They were supposed to watch the greenshirts, take notes, and help Beach Head grade them later. Scarlett watched as time after time the recruits adjusted their strategies to one up the other team. Beach Head would randomly switch team members, matching strengths against weaknesses. She noticed how Lt. Davidson and Lt. Richardson worked so well together, and were the natural leaders that the other team members looked up to. Even when they were on separate teams, they maintained their same presence. She also noticed that which ever team Brown was on, the group seemed to be laughing a lot even though they remained serious. She thought, "why shouldn't they be laughing?" The exercise actually looked like a lot of fun, but Beach Head made certain that it wasn't. After every game, he would critique the greenshirt's performance. Not a positive comment was made, and it seemed as though he was purposefully targeting the weaker of the recruits. But he especially laid into Davidson and Richardson when they managed to capture the other team's flag, and stood at their own flag celebrating.

"What the fuck are you two so proud of," he hollered at them. "You think you won? There are three of your teammates lying dead in that field; under your command I might add Lieutenant, who ain't celebrating!" He grabbed Davidson by the collar and forced him to look at them, "imagine three of your subordinates rotting in the hot sun because your command decisions got them shot! And what are you gonna tell their mothers when you make that phone call? Sorry we left your son's body on the battlefield, Ma'am, but on the bright side we got this red dishtowel as a fuckin' trophy!" He spun him around and got right in his face, "I don't think she's gonna give a shit!" He suddenly turned his attention to Richardson, "what do you think?" Richardson only averted his gaze and said nothing. All of the other greenshirts had stood up and tried not to draw Beach Head's wrath onto themselves. Beach Head continued reaming Davidson, "you killed your enemy's last line of defense, but at least Brown died trying to get Alvarez out of harm's way," his attention shifted momentarily, "and I have no clue what she was trying to do out there!" His voice quieted and the familiar tone of disgust crept into it, "you two have a lot to learn about leadership and responsibility."

He ordered the two teams to try it again and they all seemed to move with an air of seriousness. Beach Head's speech had sucked whatever fun they were having out of the exercise, and put a sense of realism into it. They ran the exercise the entire afternoon and when Beach Head ended it he gathered them and lectured them in a very unusual way for him. "What you did today is something that happens in every day of combat. The few will lead the many into a situation where people can die. Not the kind of death that happened here today, the real kind…where there is no getting up to try again. Most of you who became leaders on this field today would fall apart during the real thing. There is no risk involved here, but out there every death is on your shoulders. Take care of yourself and your teammates, that's always priority one." He made eye contact with all of the greenshirts as he said that last sentence. After a moment of silence, he dismissed them and they all walked off with a sobering dose of reality.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

The night was clear and warm at the camp. The heat that had dominated the morning continued through the day, but finally became bearable after sundown. The early June heat wave was supposed to continue with little relief in sight. The greenshirts were drained after spending all day in the hot sun, but managed to gather on the deck for some R and R.

None of the recruits realized that there was a full blown General at the camp, and that's exactly how Hawk wanted it. He felt that in order to observe the troops in a natural state, he had to remain incognito. He was posing as the bartender on the deck, and anyone who wasn't a Joe didn't think anything of him.

Scarlett stood on the screened in porch looking at the troops that had gathered on the deck. For some reason, the whole crew had decided that, regardless of what tomorrow would bring, tonight was the time to party. The two remaining female greenshirts were receiving the standard bar scene attention by the men. But she noticed that one of them was missing. Her eyes searched the field for the man who had recently been commanding her thoughts. She felt a smile cross her lips as a lone figure emerged from the shadows and made his way toward the deck. She watched as he bellied up to the bar and paid for a beer. As he waited, a greenshirt named Mitchell rushed up to him and clapped a heavy hand on his back. An exchange was made stating that Jester's money was no good here, and the large man slammed a bill down on the bar. Brown received his beer and toasted his bunkmate before drinking down a large gulp. Mitchell put his arm around Jester's shoulder and escorted him over to the group of greenshirts that had gathered earlier. Scarlett frowned when she saw one of the females embrace him and whisper something in his ear before pulling back with a large grin on her face, which he returned.

Scarlett quietly opened the screen door that separated the porch from the deck and slipped into the party. The greenshirt named Davidson spotted her and called for attention. "Officer present!" The entire group stopped their revelry and turned to salute her.

"At ease," she said as she glanced at the group. There were only greenshirts around so she decided to have some fun. "Next round is on Beach Head!"

"I'd rather die of thirst," an unknown soldier spoke, and the group burst into laughter.

She noticed that Corporal Brown, or Jester as he seemed to be known, was looking at her from the corner of his eye. She walked up to "bartender" Hawk and made good on her offer for the next round. As she stood at the bar she stared at Jester, willing him to notice her. When he finally felt her gaze upon him he looked at her and held her direct eye contact. She made a subtle motion toward the darkened field, picked up her drink, and walked off into the night. Jester hung with the recruits for a few minutes and then went to the bar.

"Could I take Scarlett up on her offer for the next round," he questioned the bartender.

"Absolutely," Hawk responded. He fetched another bottle for the greenshirt and popped the cap using the bottle opener on his belt. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Jester answered, "give me a six pack to go." He hesitated for a moment and added, "if you deem it appropriate."

"No problem," Hawk said as he pulled a six pack from a cooler behind the bar. "That'll be six bucks."

Jester threw down a ten and said, "keep it." Hawk looked at him as if to protest, but he continued, "remember this the next time I do something stupid, Sir." He winked at the General, gave a mock salute, and hurried off the deck.

"He knew," Hawk mused. "How the hell did he know?" He smiled and shook his head.

Jester found Scarlett hiding in the shadows next to the supply shed and stopped. No words were exchanged, but the moonlight let her see that he looked directly at her before continuing toward the tree line and the path that led down to the stream. She waited a few seconds and went after him. When she arrived at the swimming hole, the bright moon lit the area as if a giant spotlight was pointed at it. She scanned the area, but didn't see him anywhere. Then a hand fell on her shoulder and she immediately grabbed at it, and spun to attack. Jester easily dodged her punch and simply said, "it's me."

Every thought that raced through Scarlett's head screamed, "go, run away, this is wrong," but she relaxed and looked at him not as a Sergeant to a Corporal, but as a woman to a man. She wondered why, considering that she still technically had a boyfriend. Not only did she have one, but he was sleeping in the bedroom right next to hers in the farm house.

He took a long swig from the bottle he was holding and said, "thanks for the beer."

"No problem," she responded. "What are you doing? Why are you here," her mind plagued her with questions about her motives. Truth is she had no idea that she had motives. Her body seemed to be on autopilot. She downed the rest of her whiskey and water and was pleasantly surprised when he offered her a beer.

"Not your brand, but it's the best I've got," he mused as he pulled a bottle from its cardboard container.

"You love Snake Eyes," she thought to herself. "You may be mad at him, but you're still with him." Her mind was trying to reason with her, but she knew that she would entertain any thought this kid ran by her. She twisted the cap off of her beer and downed half of it in an attempt to calm her nerves. She was aware of how that looked and tried to play it off, but he beat her to it.

"Let's walk," he said as he offered his arm to her. She hooked her arm through his and allowed him to lead her down a path that followed the meandering stream. Silence dominated, aside from the crickets and other nocturnal creatures that gave voice to the evening. She looked up at the moon and stars and tried to remember the last time she felt so peaceful. They reached a large boulder and she watched as Jester scrambled his way to the top. "Come on up," he invited, and she began to scale the rock. He put out his hand in order to help her, and even though she didn't need it, she reached for him anyway. The top of the boulder was flooded with starlight. He laid down and folded his arms behind his head. "The stars here are beautiful. Sometimes it seems like you can see into another dimension. The clarity…" His voice trailed off and Scarlett felt herself falling into his vision of the universe.

She really didn't know what to do so she laid down next to him. Before she realized she had done it, she had shifted closer to him and laid her head against his chest. His arm instinctively came down and enclosed her, giving her a sense of safety. "Do you know the stars," she asked him.

"Some of them," he responded.

"What's that one," she questioned teasingly.

"Stop playing," he said. "That's the big dipper…you know that." He squeezed her tighter. She giggled and cuddled closer to him. They both stared into the night in silence for a few minutes until a shooting star stretched across the sky. She let out a gasp and he asked, "did you make a wish?"

"Yeah." She closed her eyes and wished simply for answers. Anything that would help to clear the uncertainty in her mind. When she finished she returned the question, "did you?"

"Yep," he responded.

"What for," she prodded him.

He turned toward her with a look of shock on his face, "I can't tell you that! Don't you know the rules of wishing?" She started to laugh again at his overdramatic acting. "If I tell you, the wish won't come true! Jesus, where did you grow up that you don't know that?" He took another swig of beer and muttered to himself, "unbelievable that a woman of her rank and position doesn't know the Wishing Regulation Manual front to back."

She sat up and mocked him, "the Wishing Regulation Manual?"

"Sure, the WRM," he quipped. "Standard issue with every recording of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ever sold." They both burst out laughing and she fell into his arms again.

"No wonder they call you Jester," she thought. Suddenly she felt that there were other eyes upon them. She pulled away and looked around to try and find the person that was intruding on their moment. Instinct kicked in and part of her knew who was watching. "I have to go," she said abruptly.

He felt it too and when he saw the uneasy look on her face, decided not to question her. Instead he pulled another beer from the six pack, "one for the road?"

"No thanks," she replied nervously. She was amazed that he didn't question her, and a little hurt that he didn't ask her to stay.

"If you're concerned about getting in trouble you don't have to worry," he smiled. "I paid off the bartender." She turned to him with a stunned expression on her face, but said nothing. The smile faded from his lips and he asked, "do you know your way back?"

"Yeah, I got it." She began to descend the boulder, "thanks for asking." She climbed down the rock and once she reached the bottom she called out to him, "get some rest. Beach Head has some nasty shit planned for you tomorrow." He responded with a grunt and she considered hanging around to see what would happen. But the eyes she felt were squarely on her, so she made her way back towards the farm house.

She was running back to the house and stopped at the supply shed where she had waited for Jester earlier. She took a second to look around, and it seemed as if she was alone again. She casually made her way to the house and avoided the group of greenshirts still drinking themselves into oblivion on the deck. She went inside, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of water. She drank deeply and played over the events of the last hour in her mind. She knew that everything she had done was wrong, but for some reason she didn't feel bad about it. She would go upstairs, knock on Snake Eyes' door, and try to get some sort of proof that he was spying on her. Deep down she knew that he had seen her cuddle up to the greenshirt and she wondered what the repercussions would be. He wouldn't let on that he knew, and would either wait for her to admit it, or accidentally tip her hand in his favor. She decided to act as if nothing happened, and hope that he would let it slide. "That's not going to happen," she thought as she capped the half empty water bottle and walked upstairs to her room.

She stopped in front of Snake Eyes' door and lightly knocked. After a few seconds she heard the lock click and the door opened a crack. When he saw it was her he opened the door fully and stood expectantly. "I just wanted to say goodnight," she lied to him. "I'm going to bed now, so I'll see you in the morning." He signed his own good night, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and waited for her to retreat before closing the door, trying desperately to contain his fury.

Scarlett entered her own room and swore in frustration. She couldn't tell anything by looking at him and he wasn't even wearing his mask. She began to go through her bed time rituals thinking about what she would do about Snake Eyes. Eventually she began to wonder what she would do about Corporal Brown. She slipped her nightie over her head and clicked off the overhead light. She opened the window shade and let the moon light shine into her room. As she crawled under the covers she stared at the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. "What have you gotten yourself into," she thought as she remembered the shooting star she had seen earlier in the evening. She glanced to her left and noticed that the digital readout on her alarm clock said 11:11. She made a wish hoping that her earlier wish for answers would come true…and soon.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter 7_

Beach Head was aware of last night's partying and decided to use this to his advantage. At 0400, he sounded the wake up call, and the ten remaining greenshirts gathered to begin the day's torture. He decided to put them through the obstacle course first thing, and then begin a live fire training exercise to see how well they could focus and perform through their hangovers. After that (assuming no one died) he would run them up the mountain and have them rappel down the 150 foot cliff face, and then climb back up. He also decided that if any of them failed an exercise, the entire team would have to do it again. This would teach them to look after each other, and force them to act for the betterment of the team, not the individual. He smirked under his baklava as he watched the first group start through the obstacle course and thought, "that should keep those bastards occupied until lunch."

When Beach Head finished running the recruits into the ground, he gave them a half hour for lunch. He had assumed that all the greenshirts would be too sick to even consider eating, but three of them showed up and went through the line, piling food onto their trays. Beach Head was surprised, yet wasn't, that it was Brown, Richardson, and Davidson that had arrived together. The three of them had stayed pretty close since their arrival at the camp. Beach Head decided to verbally abuse them some more. "You three must be damn hungry." He turned to Richardson and questioned him directly, "how many sandwiches you got there, boy?"

Richardson glanced down and quickly counted, "seven, Sergeant."

"Are you going to eat seven sandwiches?" Beach Head looked at Brown and Davidson as well.

"No, Sergeant," Richardson replied, "we're taking some back for the other recruits."

"Oh really," Beach Head sounded amused. "Why can't they get their own food?" Richardson looked at his CO and tried to respond, but opted for silence. "I asked you a question, greenshirt!" He was right up in the kid's face, and Richardson averted his eyes from Beach Head's piercing gaze. "You will not take food out of the mess area! The three of you are going to sit here and eat every last crumb of food on your trays! If your teammates are too damn tired to get their own food then too fucking bad!" Beach Head was so close to Richardson that their noses were almost touching.

"Doesn't that seem a bit contradictory, Sergeant?" Beach Head's eyes burned with rage as he turned his attention to the greenshirt who had just mouthed off to him. As he leaned in to read this little piece of shit the riot act, the recruit spoke again. "You spent all morning teaching us to look out for our teammates and now suddenly we're all on our own again?" The anger that flared in Beach Head's body almost caused him to haul off and hit the greenshirt. "We're all tired," the recruit continued, "but Davidson, Richardson and I volunteered to come down here and get food. Even though the thought of eating makes us want to puke, we know that you haven't finished with us yet and we're going to need our energy." What infuriated Beach Head even more was that Brown had never taken his eyes off of him, and seemed to be defying him with every second he stared at him. Once again the kid continued, "we can't ignore a teammate who needs help, Sergeant."

Beach Head took a few seconds to compose himself before addressing the three of them collectively, "take whatever food you have to your friends, but this is the first and last time I will allow it." He extended his finger and pointed alternately at the greenshirts. "The three of you are going to be participating in a little extra PT tonight after your scheduled training. And you," he stared directly at Brown, "that's the second time you've mouthed off to me. If you so much as look at me in the wrong tone of voice you will be out of here so fast your head won't stop spinning until you reach Bragg! You got me?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Brown replied forcefully.

Beach Head glared at the three of them before saying, "now get the hell out of my sight!"

"Thank you, Sergeant," the three greenshirts answered in unison before turning and hurrying out of the mess hall to deliver lunch to the rest of the group.

The lunch incident was quickly forgotten as the greenshirts gathered for the second day of their advanced martial arts training. Scarlett stepped forward and instructed the group to kneel around her as they did yesterday. She took a moment to look into their eyes and noticed that most of them looked like the living dead. She purposefully avoided eye contact with one of the recruits and then stood tall to address them. "Today you will be sparring one on one with Snake Eyes so we can determine how well you grasped yesterday's instruction." A few of the greenshirts exchanged worried glances. "Who's first?"

When no one volunteered, Snake Eyes stepped forward and pointed a finger at one of the greenshirts. Scarlett's eyes shifted from her "boyfriend" to the man Snake Eyes had chosen. Brown made his way towards the teacher and stood face to face with him. She turned to the recruit and told him, "this is live, so there will be contact. But remember that it is a controlled exercise, so relax." The latter part of her statement was really directed to Snake Eyes.

Snake Eyes bowed to the greenshirt, and Brown reciprocated. Scarlett called a start to the fight as she moved out of the way and stood next to Beach Head. Brown stood in his ready position and waited for the Master to make his move. The two circled each other and Snake Eyes threw a few weak jabs, which Brown easily avoided. "Get him, Jester," Richardson yelled from the crowd and the rest of the greenshirts began to clap. Jester's focus never wavered from his opponent and when the masked man shot another lazy jab in his direction, Brown blocked with his forearm and fired a punch of his own at his opponent's ribs, which was easily blocked.

"I knew you were holding out on me," Snake Eyes thought to himself. Suddenly the pace picked up as the masked man threw a flurry of punches and kicks at the recruit. Surprisingly, he blocked every one of them, including a low kick that Brown blocked with his shin bone, a standard kick boxing move. When Brown immediately went on the attack he managed to catch the man in black by surprise, and landed a right cross to his jaw. As he did so the world seemed to fall into slow motion. He was able to see over his teacher's shoulder and caught a glimpse of Scarlett and Beach Head as he had never seen them before. Scarlett's jaw was hanging almost to her chest, and Brown fancied he could see the tip of Beach Head's chin barely poking out from the bottom of his baklava. Their eyes were as wide as saucers. Even Beach Head, whose eyes only ever showed two emotions (angry and angry) stood in disbelief.

His mind crashed back into reality as Snake Eyes recovered and advanced on him with abandon. "Shit, I guess I shouldn't have done that." Brown did everything he could to dodge and block the ninja's attacks, but he knew that he was being overwhelmed. He decided to try one last offensive strike, but it was swatted aside as if it had been thrown by a child. "I'm of balance," kept repeating through his mind as he desperately tried to recover. Snake Eyes hit Jester square in the mouth, but the recruit didn't go down or retreat his position. Instead, he threw a haymaker which the teacher barely ducked. Snake Eyes then planted both of his fists in the greenshirt's sternum and stomach. At the same time, the masked man hooked his leg behind Brown's ankles and sent him toppling to the ground. The ninja landed on top of him and once again the world went into slow motion. Brown tried to get his hands up and roll away from the attack, but the black gloved fist seemed to be closing the gap much too quickly. Brown knew that the fight was over and hoped that the fight would be the only thing ending today.

"Snake Eyes!" Scarlett's voice called through the early afternoon, and Brown was able to focus on the masked man's hand stopped mere centimeters from the bridge of his nose. "That's enough," she said as she approached the two men and laid her hand on the shoulder that was prepared to land the death blow. Snake Eyes rose and turned away from the greenshirt.

Brown gathered himself and slowly got to his feet. He touched his hand to his lip and it came away bloody. He placed a fist into his open palm and bowed towards his teacher. "Sensei…"

Snake Eyes turned and saw Brown's show of respect and immediately returned the bow. He was pleased that the recruit's eyes had never left his. As he straightened he felt very conflicted. He was angry that he had underestimated the skills of the greenshirt, but he was more concerned about how he had lost control of himself. Still, he was forced to respect the man's ability, and admit that, however brief, he had gotten the better of him. He was still going to kill him for touching his woman, but he could respect him while he did it. As Brown turned to rejoin the kneeling greenshirts, Snake Eyes pointed to his next opponent and smiled as he watched him timidly rise and approach.


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 8_

The greenshirts spent the next hour sparring with Snake Eyes. A few of them showed promise, but no one came close to what Brown had exhibited. When Snake Eyes broke out the Kendo Swords to begin their weapons training, Scarlett wasn't surprised to see that he had chosen Brown as his demonstration subject. When he revealed that he had limited experience in swordplay, Snake Eyes took the opportunity to attack him with vigor. Brown blocked a few, but took some hard shots to the shoulders and thighs. She felt the urge to put a stop to the display, but if she did she feared that everyone would know she was harboring some sort of affection for Jester. Besides, to undermine the class instructor, no matter how much of a bullying asshole he was being, was the wrong thing to do. She decided that the best thing to do was avoid all contact with Corporal Brown unless it was part of his training. Yes, that's exactly what she'd do. No more walking the camp at night because he might be there, no more inappropriate contact or conversation. She could do it. She wouldn't even think about him. No problem…at least until Snake Eyes left.

Scarlett managed to stand by her self-imposed rules. She still watched him, but not as intently as she had before. She was surprised to see Beach Head and Snake Eyes change their attitudes toward Brown. Beach Head still nitpicked everything he did, and mercilessly made fun of him when he tripped over a branch on a run through the woods and fell flat on his face. Beach started calling him Twinkletoes after that, but the hatred and contempt he had shown earlier was absent. Snake Eyes still made an example of him during training, and took some extra liberties with him during contact drills, but she knew Snakes well enough to see that he was pushing Brown to find the extent of his abilities. After the last day of training Snake Eyes approached him, and with Beach Head's help, told him he showed promise. But he warned him to keep his focus on what's important and not let outside distractions keep him from his goals. Beach Head hurried the greenshirts off to the obstacle course, and that was the last any of them saw of Snake Eyes.

She watched as he made his way into the farm house and followed him up to his room. She stood silently in the doorway as he began to pack his belongings into his duffel bag. He turned to her and asked, "why aren't you packing? We have to leave in thirty minutes."

"I'm not going," she stated dryly.

"What? When were you planning to tell me," he questioned.

"Beach Head and Hawk asked me to stay until training ends next week," she replied. He stared at her for a moment and then resumed his packing. The care he showed earlier was disappearing and she could tell he was seething. "They thought I could help with the final training."

"I can tell you're very concerned about the outcome of this," he signed to her, "you've really invested a lot of time into some of these greenshirts."

"What's that supposed to mean," she angrily asked. He held up his hands in mock surrender as if to end the discussion. "Don't pull any punches now! You obviously have something on your mind, and since you brought it up, let's hear it!"

He stopped what he was doing and signed one word, "Brown."

"What about him," she asked.

"You seem to spend a lot of time watching him," he accused.

"Obviously," she defended, "we're supposed to watch them. We're here to see if there are any future Joes amongst these recruits." Oh my God, he knows. Everybody knows, her panicked thoughts shouted.

"Did you watch them all with the same scrutiny," he asked.

"Of course," she had a bad feeling about where he was going with this, but went with it anyway. Her mind was still panicking.

"So I guess you discussed the Wishing Regulation Manual with Richardson as well," he charged.

"You bastard," she spat at him, "I knew you were spying on me!"

He ignored her outburst and continued, "so you snuggled up with all the greenshirts and shared a beer with them? Interesting training technique. Not very professional, though."

"Professional," she shouted, "you basically just got finished telling him to stay away from your girl!"

He dismissed her comments again and threw another question at her, "what maneuvers were you trying to teach him, exactly?"

Scarlett just stood still and stared holes into him. Her blue eyes seemed almost black with anger. "I didn't have to teach him anything…he already knew what to do." She knew this was a lie, and so did he, but it struck such a chord in Snake Eyes that he actually took a threatening half step in her direction before composing himself. She took the opportunity to press him further, "we have no ties, remember? You're the one who said I needed to back off and get some perspective, remember?" She threw as much sass as she could muster into the word 'remember'. "Besides, it's nice to find someone who actually TALKS to me once in a while!" Low blow, she knew it, but she was tired of always understanding whenever he took off to deal with his issues and insecurities alone. "You've always kept me at a distance until it suited your needs to bring me closer! Then you just pushed me away again!"

He stood tall and said, "fine, I didn't know you were so unhappy." He turned away and finished packing his bag.

The fact that he didn't seem to care about what she was saying only fueled her anger, "you never asked!" And then more softly, "you never asked me anything." As she turned to leave she said, "I pray that you find what you're looking for out there, Snakes, because that or death is the only way you'll ever be at peace." She walked to her room and sat in silence, listening as he finished gathering his things. She heard his bedroom door close, and his light footsteps on the stairs. She listened for the front door to close, and waited for the engine noise from the jeep he drove to disappear into the distance.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_

Snake Eyes wasn't the only person to leave the camp that day. McMurray surprised everyone, including Beach Head, by quitting with only one week to go. Apparently he couldn't stand the thought of one more trip up the mountain to end the day's training, so he left. Now there were nine.

The rain that had threatened all day finally came pouring down as the greenshirts were finishing their run. The whole group showed up at the mess hall soaking wet, tired, and hungry. The mood was down after McMurray's departure, but they all seemed to be feeling the end of training was near. After dinner they all retired to their tents, changed into dry clothes, and settled in for a rainy night. Most sat in Alvarez's tent playing cards, but a few of them stayed by themselves. Brown was sitting alone in his tent (Mitchell was losing at cards) reading a Clive Barker novel, when he heard the rain stop pounding a rhythm on the roof. He marked his place and went to the flap to see if it had truly stopped or just slowed down. The rain had quit for the moment, so he decided to take a walk.

The night was just setting in, and it seemed the unusually high temperatures that had dominated the week would finally break. The early night was still and calm, the humidity very high, but not too uncomfortable. He began to walk aimlessly across the field, lost in his own thoughts. He looked to the sky as the clouds separated for a moment, and the hazy moon peeked through at him. "Hold it, Greenshirt," a voice called from behind him. His body tensed at the sudden sound, but he didn't turn around. He already knew who it was, and a slight smile crossed his face.

Scarlett knew that she had surprised him, but he didn't turn around to greet her. She suddenly felt very anxious that she couldn't see his face and read his expression. She worried that he was angry at her for avoiding him all week. She tried to think of something witty to say, but only came up with, "waiting for the mother ship to land?"

He turned to her, and was barely able to keep his cool when he saw her. She was wearing shorts that were just a bit too short for regulations, and a blue, hooded sweatshirt that managed to cling to her in all the right places. Her long red hair framed the creamy white skin of her face, and fell about her shoulders. He hadn't seen it out of its standard ponytail since the day he met her. It was nice. He managed a grin and prayed that his voice didn't falter, "what a surprise to meet you out here…alone…in the dark…out of screaming distance."

There were so many things she wanted to say, but she couldn't settle on anything. She giggled and noted, "it's not dark yet."

"Details, details," he responded.

She desperately wanted to avoid silence, so she decided to comment on his week with Snake Eyes. "You showed a lot of good moves during training this week. How did you get started in the martial arts?"

He took a few moments to prepare his thoughts, and eventually decided that his life story was the best method. "I was a really shy kid. There were days when I wouldn't say a word to anyone, and this is at five or six years old when you can't get a kid to shut up for five seconds. My parents thought it would be a good idea to enroll me in a Karate class to hopefully build my confidence and self esteem. Turns out I was pretty good, and managed to catch on quickly. Every couple of years my teachers would pass me on to someone else because they claimed they had nothing left to teach me, and I learned a couple of different styles. By the time I was sixteen, I had forgotten all about what martial arts stood for, and was only using it to release my aggression. But luckily I met up with a man who was able to center me again, and teach me the spirituality of the arts. He helped me to focus my energies and not react to every situation with violence."

As he was speaking, he resumed his walk, and Scarlett followed. "Do you still see him?"

"No," Jester replied, "the summer after I graduated high school he said that I had learned all I needed. Now I should take my knowledge into the world."

"He sounds wise," she offered. "He realized that the only way you were going to truly understand the things he taught you was through experience."

"Yeah, I eventually figured that out," he replied. "At first I just felt like I was being thrown away again."

Scarlett thought for a moment and asked, "this week wasn't very enlightening for you, was it?"

"Actually it was. I haven't learned anything new about martial arts in years," he said. "Snake Eyes really gave me a lot of good lessons."

"Do you wish he would have stayed," she questioned.

"Sort of," Jester said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly not going to miss getting the shit kicked out of me every day, but I would like to study with him again at some point."

She wanted to apologize to him. Explain that it was her fault he was being abused on a daily basis. She instead took a hold of his hand. He stopped and turned to look at her. She was normally a couple of inches shorter than him, but the thick soled boots she wore made them more or less equal. They stared into each other's eyes. The sky was still light enough that they could clearly see each other in the grey.

She grasped his other hand and asked him another question, "why do they call you Jester?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess I'm just the biggest fool in the kingdom."

Her eyes never left his as she whispered, "maybe not the biggest." She pulled him toward her and their lips briefly met. She pulled away and smiled at him.

"Besides, it sounds a lot better than Twinkletoes," he continued as if nothing had happened.

She laughed and pulled him into another kiss, tentatively at first, but each of them quickly increased their intensity. His right hand freed itself from her grip and reached up to caress her cheek, then slid down her neck and ran through her hair. Their tongues began to explore each other's mouths as he pulled her closer. She had both hands behind his head, and both of his were positioned on the small of her back. A soft moan escaped her as she felt his manhood press against her. She felt all her uncertainties fall away, and she honestly didn't care if she was court marshaled for fraternization.

Suddenly a loud clap of thunder echoed across the mountains, and an instant later the rain was pouring down upon them. At the noise Scarlett had jumped and broken their kiss. Now as the lightning flashed across the sky she was able to see deep into his eyes. "He's so nervous," she thought as another roll of thunder sounded. She tried to ease his fears by kissing him again, but he pulled away.

"We've got to get out of here," he said as he took her hand and began running toward the tree line. Another white flash lit up the sky, and the thunder boomed through the night instantaneously.

Once they had reached the woods and found safety underneath the boughs of a young hemlock tree, Scarlett reasoned with him, "I thought you weren't supposed to hide under a tree during a thunder storm?"

"You're not," he said, "but it's better than being out in that field where we're the only thing around to attract the lightning." Just then a bright light flashed in the woods twenty yards to their left, and a sound like a cannon firing surrounded them. Scarlett screamed and huddled as close as she could to Jester. Jester ducked for cover and held on to Scarlett for dear life. He watched and listened and when he was sure that no trees were coming down he reassured her, "it's ok. Everything is ok." There was a brief moment of silence as they both looked around. "Holy shit," he chuckled, "that was close." Scarlett began to laugh and when their eyes finally met they remembered what they had been doing minutes ago. He lifted her head, and with a mischievous grin he quipped, "now, where were we?"

Scarlett smiled and leaned in to accept his advances. He pulled away for a moment, and sat back against the trunk of the tree. The soft ground was covered in a bed of pine needles and rich, black soil. She kneeled down over his lap and took his head into both of her hands, enjoying the way he was looking up into her eyes. Smiling, she leaned in, but he cautiously pulled away. "Don't be afraid of this," she said, still holding his head firmly, "you won't get in trouble." She planted a strong kiss on him and their tongues picked up where they had left off earlier. He put his hands on her hips and gave her a sharp pull, scooting her forward so that he held her against him. This time she broke the kiss and smiled at him as she sat down on his lap so that they were more or less eye to eye. Her smile broadened when she felt how aroused he was, and his smile widened when he felt her warmth on his lap. They were both soaked to the skin and the rain continued to drip on them through the trees, but they were completely focused on each other. Their smiles faded and a serious look of desire hit each of them. Their hands began to take liberties with each other's bodies. He let his roam over the curves of her hips and down her thighs. Hers slid down his arms and traced over his biceps. He started to kiss her neck as his hands reversed direction and slipped around to her bottom. She started to run hers across his chest, and then lifted his lips to hers. She felt his right hand stay on her waist as his left crept underneath her sweatshirt. His hand cupped her right breast and she gasped as his thumb brushed across her already hardened nipple. A flash of pleasure surged through her body like an electric shock. She began to unbutton his shirt as his right hand joined his left in caressing her breasts. She reached both hands into his open shirt and followed the lines of his pectoral muscles down to his navel, and back up again. She broke their kiss when both of his hands went behind her back and undid the clasp of her bra. His hands immediately returned to her now naked breasts, and she resumed kissing him with fervor.

"I have to touch you," he whispered in her ear as his hands moved down her flat stomach to the waistband of her shorts. She moaned her approval as he undid the snap and pulled down her zipper. She rose to her knees again as his fingers roamed across her wetness. She bit her lip and stifled a cry when his finger slipped inside the leg of her panties. He took his time exploring her womanhood. She wanted to reciprocate the pleasure she felt, but he was touching her in exactly the right places, and her forearms were planted on his shoulders for support. Her body rocked back and forth against his touch and her orgasm built swiftly. Before she could try and hold off and prolong the sensation, a wave of pleasure and satisfaction crashed through her. She was laughing as she kissed him again, and she could feel his intense desire to have her completely. She sat down on his lap again and Jester felt the familiar warming sensation once more. She had begun to undo his pants, going very slowly, teasing him every step of the way. She was just about to free him from his boxers when he quickly pulled away.

"No," he said suddenly, with an anguished look on his face.

"What," she started to ask, but he held up his hand to quiet her.

"No," he yelled in an exasperated tone as he pushed her off of him and hurried to his feet. "I swear the whole fucking world's against me!"

"Jester, what's wrong?" Her eyes pleaded with him to explain. She felt on the verge of tears.

"Listen," he told her and gestured in the direction of the camp. It was now that she heard the siren Beach Head used to summon the greenshirts to assemble for training.

"No," she said, unable to believe this was happening.

"I gotta go," he said to her. He turned to run, but stopped and came back to her, bending down to heartily kiss her. "I'm really sorry, but I gotta…"

"Go," she said and smiled at him. He took off out of the woods and sprinted across the field toward the farm house, buttoning his shirt as he ran. Scarlett began to slowly rearrange her clothing into a presentable state. She decided to walk away from the farm house in order to avoid being noticed. She crossed the field quickly, and stayed to the low ground, circling around to the front of the house and creeping in unnoticed. She hurried up to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, finally allowing herself to breathe. She turned on the shower and waited for the water to sufficiently warm. As she undressed she looked in the mirror and smiled as she saw the places that Jester's hands had so recently been. She was still smiling as she got into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her. She thought back to the way he had made her feel and expelled a very contented and blissful sigh.

Jester skidded to a stop among the ranks of his fellow greenshirts, and felt a pang of guilt that they were all doing push ups on his account. Beach Head immediately got in his face and questioned his absence, "you better have a damn good reason for postponing my training, recruit!"

"I was taking a walk in the field and came running as soon as I heard the siren, Sergeant," Jester explained.

"Do you realize that your teammates have been pushing for nearly three minutes because of you," he questioned. Before Jester could respond he laid into him again, "and where is your helmet? You know better than to show up here without your cover!"

"I wanted to get here as soon as possible, Sergeant," he explained. "That's why I didn't stop at my tent and gather my things."

"Well I suggest you go and get it fast, Twinkletoes, because your friends are gonna keep pushing until you get back here and are suitably prepared for training," Beach Head yelled. Jester ran as fast as he could to his tent, grabbed his pack, stuffed his helmet onto his head, and hurried back. When he returned Beach Head ordered the rest of the greenshirts to their feet. "After all the whining and complaining I heard this week about the heat, I figured you pus buckets would enjoy training in the nice, cool rain!" He smiled when they grumbled. "I was going to run you through the obstacle course, but since Twinkletoes couldn't seem to make it on time, I think we'll run it five times. Once for every minute he made you wait. Now let's move it!"

The greenshirts ran over to the obstacle course and prepared themselves for the tortures ahead. The course was roughly a quarter mile long, but the trenches, walls and special surprises that always lurked in the bushes made it extremely challenging. Also, Beach Head put a nearly impossible time of one minute, forty-five seconds to complete it. He had a rule that every greenshirt must complete the course under time for it to count, so running the course successfully once, usually meant running it three or four times. To run the course five times meant they would be here most of the night.

Beach Head's voice called over the din of rain and thunder, "Brown, I believe you owe your friends some push ups! When you aren't running this course, I want your nose hitting the dirt!"

"Yes, Sergeant," he replied, and immediately dropped to the ground as Beach Head started two of the greenshirts through the course.

Scarlett stood on the screened in porch of the farm house, sipping a cup of coffee, and watching the greenshirts slug their way through Beach Head's Obstacle Course from Hell. They had been running for over three hours without stopping, and it was really taking its toll on the group. She especially noticed that when Jester wasn't on the course, he was doing push ups. God only knew how many he had done by now. It was amazing he could even complete the course. The rain had stopped again, and the flood lights that lined the course were brightly cutting the Appalachian darkness. She heard Beach Head yell that their collective effort wasn't good enough, and they had to do it again. As they sluggishly dragged themselves back to the start she heard Beach holler, 'only one more to go!' The team started its way through, and Brown did pushups while he waited for his turn. Scarlett watched and crossed her fingers as Jester and Richardson were the last to tackle the course. She thought they would make it through, but Richardson got stuck halfway up the wall climb. Scarlett watched in wonder as Jester backed down the wall, grabbed Richardson's collar and all but threw him the rest of the way up the wall. He stayed with Richardson the rest of the way, pushing him to go faster. She breathed a sigh of relief when they both sprinted across the finish line.

"Very good," Beach Head drawled, "one minute, forty-four point seven seconds. Looks like you all passed." A relieved cheer went up from the greenshirts and Jester dropped to continue his pushups. "However," he stated as the cheers were cut short, "Richardson needed some help to finish, and normally that's a five second penalty."

Scarlett's heart sank along with the greenshirt's and she cursed Beach Head, "you lousy bastard."

Beach Head looked at the group, and then at Brown and announced he decision, "Seeing as how Twinkletoes could have left him back there to fail for certain, but instead did exactly what I've been teaching you guys for the last month and looked out for his teammate…I think we can let it slide." A mighty roar went up from the crowd. "On your feet, Brown," Beach Head turned his attention to the recruit. "How are you feeling after all of those push ups?"

Jester could barely lift his head. He was dead tired, and had difficulty keeping his feet to stay upright, but he gave a proud response, "buff and muscular, Sergeant. I think I need a bigger shirt."

Beach Head actually smiled, although no one saw it hiding under his baklava. This kid was a fighter. He had to give him that. "Are you ever going to be late again?"

"Never again, Sergeant," Jester said with a slight chuckle.

Beach Head turned and addressed the entire group, "that's it for tonight. Get some sleep and rest up for tomorrow. Dismissed!" The greenshirts broke into a slow jog and headed back to their tents.

Scarlett checked her watch and saw that it was almost 0100. She watched from the porch as Mitchell grabbed a hold of Jester's elbow and led him into their tent. Then she went inside, headed upstairs and readied herself for bed. She paused at her window and looked out before pulling the shade and lying down. Her mind was reeling with the thoughts of tonight's encounter, and she couldn't wait to see him again. She calmed herself and mentally reminded herself that what happened was completely against regulations, and was a very serious offense. "Who cares," she smiled, feeling like a school girl with a crush, "it was worth it."


	10. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

The final week passed in a blur. Between training exercises and preparations for the final test, Scarlett barely had time for herself, much less to hook up with Jester again. Beach Head explained to everyone that the final would last three days in the woods. The greenshirts would have to survive harsh conditions on limited supplies while interacting as a team to cross certain checkpoints and accomplish various tasks that would test each recruit's physical, mental, and emotional toughness. Each greenshirt would carry only a portion of the items needed to complete the mission, so everyone had to watch out for each other. Beach Head, Scarlett, and Hawk would be watching from hidden locations and grading their performance. At 0700 on the first day of the final, each greenshirt's name was placed in a helmet, and Alvarez's name was pulled to lead the group. Beach Head handed her a packet of instructions and sent them into the woods.

The greenshirts arrived back at camp in the early afternoon of the third day, weary and exhausted, and were greeted by Beach Head, Scarlett, and Hawk. Everyone immediately snapped to attention, and each felt very uncomfortable to find out that the man who had been serving drinks for the last month and a half was a General. They expected him to say something, but since it was Beach Head's camp, he gave the speech. "At ease! I want to congratulate all of you on surviving this training course. As of now, your mission is complete, and you all passed with flying colors." He waited for those words to sink in before continuing, "each of you will receive a passing grade on your record and my staff and I will give each of you detailed comments evaluating your performance. You have all learned valuable lessons in teamwork, leadership, and perseverance. Be proud of what you've done here." He paused and then finished his instructions, "your bus to the airport leaves promptly at 0900 tomorrow morning and you will be required to collapse your tents and leave them as you found them on the day you arrived. Other than that, the remainder of the day is yours to do as you please. The mess hall will be open until 2100 hours, and the General will open the bar at 1600." The greenshirts exchanged excited looks. "Also the obstacle course will be available for use until dark, in case anyone wants to take a farewell run."  
Davidson spoke up, "wait a second, was that a joke, Sergeant?" Muffled laughter erupted from the greenshirts, and Scarlett and Hawk chuckled at the outburst.

Beach Head just growled an annoyed, "ehh" before dismissing the recruits. For as tired as they were when they dragged themselves into camp, they celebrated like they hadn't expended an ounce of energy. Scarlett smiled as she watched them walk away, and her eyes followed the form of a relieved Corporal as he ambled toward his tent.

Scarlett sat in the living room of the farmhouse discussing which recruits would make good Joes. The greenshirts had left a few hours ago, and she was having trouble concentrating on the meeting. She didn't get a chance to spend any time with Jester last night, and was upset that the only goodbye they shared was a warm smile and a wave as he boarded the bus.

They had just finished discussing Richardson as a possibility when Beach Head looked at the next file, "Corporal Travis Brown." Then without even opening the folder he threw it down and said, "not an option."

Scarlett's attention was now fully on the meeting, "what! Not an option! How can you say that?"

"He's not an option," Beach Head curtly replied.

"What do you mean? He was the best one of the lot," she nearly shouted. "He was a great leader, the rest of the greenshirts loved him, he cared more about his teammates than himself, he was by far the toughest kid I've ever seen…"

"What makes you say that," Hawk interrupted her.

"I don't know about you, Sir, but anyone who does push ups for three solid hours in between running Beach Head's obstacle course twenty five times, and still walks home on his own, is pretty damn tough in my book!" Hawk looked at Beach Head, and he nodded his assent to the General. Hawk sat back in his chair and Scarlett continued her rant. "He also had the best martial arts ability I've ever seen in a greenshirt. When was the last time anyone laid a hand on Snake Eyes, Joe or otherwise, during a sparring drill?" Beach Head looked at the floor, and Hawk desperately searched his mind for an incident when Snake Eyes had gotten hit. He knew it must have happened sometime in the last ten years, but nothing came to him. "So tell me, Beach," she pressed, "how can someone like that not even be considered in this process? Even you grew to respect him, and you know how much you hated him in the beginning."

"He's not available anymore," Beach Head calmly explained. A confused expression crossed Scarlett's face and he answered, "his service is up at the end of this week and he chose not to reenlist. Apparently he didn't enjoy being in the Army very much."

Scarlett's mind went completely blank. She was so taken aback by this revelation that it felt as if she had just been punched in the stomach. After a few seconds she managed to squeak out an apology for her tirade and sank back in her chair. Beach Head moved on to the next file and it took all of her strength to pay attention. She felt…she wasn't really sure what she felt. If she had to choose one word it would be heartbroken.

Scarlett was in her office back at GI Joe headquarters, slogging her way through a mission report detailing her last adventure against Cobra. She sat back in her chair and rubbed her tired eyes. She, Hawk, and Beach Head had ultimately decided that none of the greenshirts from their last training exercise were ready to be bumped up to the most elite fighting force in the world, so another group of recruits were being chosen to participate in the next exercise. It had been more than two months since they had returned from the West Virginia farm, and she still had trouble getting him out of her mind. She opened her desk drawer and searched around until she found a small piece of paper hidden amongst the chaos of pens, pencils, and markers. A phone number was written beneath the words Jester, Tacoma, Washington. She had used her security clearance to research his file in the Army's archives over a week ago, but hadn't had the courage to call him. She wanted an explanation, and she wanted to know if she was occupying his thoughts the way he dominated hers. Mainly, she just needed some sort of closure. It was after midnight where she was and she talked herself out of calling because of the lateness. But her mind threw out the words 'time zone' and she realized that it was only nine o'clock there. She picked up the phone and dialed the area code, trying to think of what she would say to him. Before she could decide she had already dialed the first six digits. She hesitated, reminding herself that this was crazy, but her finger pushed the last button and the phone on the other end began to ring. "Please be home," she thought after two rings, and then just as quickly she started to panic and prayed that he wouldn't answer. Five rings, it was time to hang up. She slowly pulled the handset away from her ear.

"Hello," a muffled voice came through the phone. She quickly placed the phone back to her ear and tried to speak, but nothing happened. "Hello," the voice said again.

In a timid voice she spoke, "Travis Brown?"

"Yeah," he said in an annoyed tone.

I bet he learned that tone from Beach she thought, and smiled to herself. Her mind flooded with questions and she finally introduced herself to him. "This is Katrina from Discover Card and you've been pre approved for a no annual fee…"

"Not interested," he said just before the line went dead.

In a small apartment in Tacoma, the formal Corporal hung up the phone and once again headed for the door. He looked at the clock hanging in the hallway and hoped that he wouldn't be late meeting his friends. He hated being late. He reached for the door knob and stopped cold as a sense of familiarity tugged at his brain. "Wait a minute…" he began as something in his head clicked. "Scarlett?"

She replaced the handset in the cradle and rested her head in her hands. She jumped when the phone rang a second later, and she hesitated before answering.

"It's Duke," the voice spoke from the other end. "Can you come up to the control room?"

She composed herself and replied, "sure, Top. I'll be there in a few." She hung up and looked at the piece of paper with his number on it. Her mind thought back to the short, yet fulfilling time they had spent together. He had come to the camp to learn from her, but managed to teach her a thing or two about life. She folded up the scrap of paper, tore it into pieces, and tossed the remains into her trash can. "Maybe it wasn't meant to be," she thought to herself. She stood up and went to her office door where she paused and looked back to the trash, "but if I want to, I'll be able to find you, Jester." She smiled to herself mischievously as she turned off the light and headed for the control room to meet Duke.


End file.
